


i can't get closer to you

by torasame



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One-Sided Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu, One-Sided Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torasame/pseuds/torasame
Summary: In some other lifetime, Sakusa Kiyoomi would've loved Miya Atsumu.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Kudos: 32
Collections: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020





	i can't get closer to you

**Author's Note:**

> Oh how the turns have tabled.  
> It's almost 1am and this fic isn't about krtsk. I've still got a heap of personal things to attend to so enjoy this dump I had in the back of my mind for quite a while.
> 
> day 6, tier 1 and 2: firsts and lasts, and right person, wrong time  
> title from: the truth untold by BTS

Wakatoshi told him something once, just between them, when they were high above the rest of the world.

_ We are the lucky ones,  _ he said. His eyes cast over the sea of people, never leaving the ball. In Sakusa’s eyes, he looked to be an omnipotent and divine being.  _ We are the lucky ones, _ Wakatoshi once said with his eyes to the world.  _ We are the lucky ones, _ Sakusa repeats and his eyes never leave Ushijima Wakatoshi.

And for some time, Sakusa could do nothing but that. Watch, listen, and believe. Because if Wakatoshi says they are lucky then who is there to say otherwise? Who is there to prove him wrong?

The thoughts make his laugh echo louder. It makes it even hollower. Because in the irony of it all, Sakusa finds himself stumbling for his bearings, stumbling in the darkness of his mind for where he’s supposed to go from here. The irony is in the midst of it all— he finds Miya Atsumu, of all people. Miya Atsumu ,and all his infuriating quirks, reaches out to him in the dark. He anchors him down to Earth. They find each other here beneath all the meaningless stars above them. Who would’ve ever thought it would come to this?

Lips move against his own. He struggles to place which of the many kisses were his first. He reaches for it like he reaches for Miya. There’s the taste of second-hand alcohol. There’s touches against his own skin and he can’t bring it in himself to push it away. He clings to Miya for dear life, he brings him down when he falls. And Miya holds him. He brings him closer than he’s ever been held before, whispers words he won’t remember when the morning comes. But for the night, for this instance, he will lose himself. He will pretend those words were made for him. He’s been doing that for quite a while, hasn’t he?

It’s apparent that neither of them really know what they’re doing. They’re pressing closer together, reaching to fill in all the gaps, like they’re trying to fit the chipped pieces of their souls together. Like they’re trying to use the other to solve their own puzzles, their own questions. It’s blind unravelling, blind navigation in the dark. He can feel Miya’s breath ghost over his skin, he can feel the heat of the blood racing beneath his skin, he can reach into the hollowness Miya is trying to fill.

But everything stops. It clicks the gears in his mind, brings sight back to his eyes. He finds Miya’s gaze interlocked with his own. They’re looking at one another, but their gazes are drawing further away. They’re looking at each other, but they’re seeing someone else.

When the heat rises, when the ache grows too unbearable to shake— when they are holding onto each other as though everything would shatter if they let go—

Sakusa says  _ Wakatoshi _ and Atsumu says  _ Shoyou. _

He’s sober now. He’s sober and he can’t even bring himself to laugh this time. Because when they wake up somewhere in the morning, Atsumu Miya will find the stars aligning in the mess they’ve made. He will find something in whatever they have done. And the world is a cruel thing, to them of all people. Because they are two bastards who are in love with people so far out of their reach. Because they are two bastards trying to find the pieces of themselves in the other, two bastards trying to fill the insatiable gap that is tearing them apart.

There’s a drop of cold that startles the heat on his cheeks. He glances up at Miya Atsumu, and he realizes it's the first time he’s ever seen him cry.

“How cruel,” Atsumu utters quietly, his words fall apart like a sandcastle built by the shore. “ _ How cruel _ .”

Sakusa reaches up, he runs his thumb over Atsumu’s tears. He pushes himself up slightly, they’re faces are closer, noses almost touching. There’s hesitation when they inch closer together, an interval where Atsumu’s lips barely brush over his own. That’s when he finds the thought, when he remembers his first kiss.

_ Am I allowed to kiss you, Omi? _

He wraps his arms around Atsumu's shoulders. They're moving against one another, sharing sickly sweet kisses to fill the void. He's breathing against Atsumu's skin and there are no sweet nothings in his ears. There's nothing to say when they fall apart and oblivion claims them both for the night.

* * *

Life resumes without hindrance. But it’s almost a shame, he thinks. Miya Atsumu is smiling like he usually is. It’s bold, crass, bright. He’s touchy with everyone, he yells like the building is on fire for the smallest things. He has a penchant for borrowing other people’s equipment, leaving his own scattered around the locker room. Miya Atsumu is loud, boisterous, unorganized.

But he’s infuriatingly strategic. He’s quick with words but they’re templated. He’s spontaneously genuine. He finds them with ease because they are a direct reflection of what is inside of him. He’s stained glass. Full of colour and distracting to the eye, but ever so transparent.

Miya Atsumu is a lot of things. 

He is a nuisance. He is unabashedly optimistic. He is a child stuck in a man’s body. He is nothing like Ushijima Wakatoshi.

“Nice kill, Omi-omi!”

Atsumu beams at him. There is no usual playful teasing, no banter. Because in volleyball, Miya Atsumu does not have the time for facades. And he’s smiling at him. Wide, bright and warm.

“Nice toss,” he replies. Atsumu almost goes for a high five, but thinks better of it. An invisible force compels Sakusa to speak up, but someone beats him to it.

“Atsumu! Set to me too!”

He’s seen that look before. It isn’t hard to remember when he looks at the glass and finds his own reflection in it. There’s a crack in the edges. A falter in a smile. But it’s masked by the sunlight. Sakusa watches the rays contort the images on the pane.

It’s a bitter reminder. Because they’ve both fucked it up, haven’t they? They’re back to being two bastards chasing for someone so far away. Sakusa steps off the court and spectates the scene from a distance. He looks at the way Atsumu’s sporadic movements confine themselves into a streamline of focus. How he finds the ball and sets it into the hands of a spiker.

But there aren’t any stars to align for them. In another life, in a reality where he managed to think everything through— Sakusa Kiyoomi would’ve loved Miya Atsumu.

* * *

Maybe Wakatoshi would be right in that distant world because as far as he knows, Ushijima Wakatoshi was wrong about him. About a lot of things.

They’re on the court this time, standing on opposing sides of the net. The omnipotent beings playing the game. The battle of the lucky ones.

_ But what was so lucky about us?  _ He says in his mind, wondering if Wakatoshi can hear him.  _ What was so lucky about us, Wakatoshi? _

He aims the hit directly at the former ace, the ball spins nastily, flying off his arms with a force that puts anything he learnt from physics to shame. He lets himself smile and vaguely notes if his team is finally getting to him. He stands over Wakatoshi, he’s taunting the question above the net.

_ What was so lucky about us? _

Sakusa keeps himself still in the magnitude of Wakatoshi’s gaze. A lump settles on his throat, his breath slows. He can’t even bring himself to laugh.

Wakatoshi is not staring at him.

Ushijima Wakatoshi was wrong, but Sakusa Kiyoomi was the fool who believed him.

* * *

Sakusa confesses his apostasy. He lets go of the prophetic curse and now he is nothing but a shell. The hole inside him grows wider, deeper. He doesn’t know where he’s supposed to go from here. He isn’t sure he wants to move at all. The world must be having quite the laugh at him now.

The pieces are scattered, but he leaves him be. The puzzle can remain unfinished, the picture unpainted, the words unspoken. He’s reaping the fruit of his actions. The world is punishing him for his carelessness. And he lets it have its joke.

But he had to draw the line somewhere. He has to draw it when Atsumu asks him aside with stars in his eyes.

“No.”

“Omi—”

“I don’t love you,” he says it with the broken pieces inside him. “And you don’t love me because that’s not how it works. The stars don’t just align like that. Everything doesn’t just fall into place, not after what happened.” He takes a step backward, eyes never leaving the blonde. “I don’t love you, Atsumu.”

“I didn’t say I loved you, Omi,” he replies as though it's a typical conversation. “I like you.”

Sakusa is beyond words.

“And you’re a smart guy, Omi, but you’re pretty dense sometimes. I know I don’t love you and I probably won’t for a while but I like you. I like how you have your own view on life and how you carry yourself. I like how you don’t say much, which makes the little you do more meaningful. I like how careful you are, how precise and organized your stuff always is. I like that you’re a lot of things that I’m not and a lot more and plus—” Atsumu hangs his head upward, “the sky is clear.”

But Sakusa isn’t looking at the empty and moonless sky. And after a moment, neither is Atsumu.

Sakusa averts his gaze to the ground.

“Our club captain used to talk about the weirdest things,” Atsumu continues on past the silence he leaves behind. “He said something about the stars too. He said that even when the sky is empty, the stars will always return. I never really understood it but from what I know— regardless of whatever appears in the sky, I’ll wait for you.”

“Why?” It comes out automatically. His voice barely filters through his mask.

“You said Atsumu,” there’s a tint of pink on his cheeks when he says it, “you said my name.”

He finds Atsumu in the dark again. He finds Atsumu with the stars in his eyes. But he knows that no matter what pieces he finds in Atsumu, no matter how Atsumu managed to put him back together— Atsumu will not be the one to make him whole.

Sakusa stays as he is, with pieces missing and a hollowness to fill. He cannot love Atsumu Miya. But it doesn’t mean he never will.

The world laughs and Sakusa laughs along with it. It isn’t as hollow as it once was. It is no longer in echo in the tunnel. And that’s the irony of it all, isn’t it?

In this universe, Ushijima Wakatoshi can be wrong. In this lifetime, Miya Atsumu can be endearing.

In time, he will find himself.

In time, Sakusa Kiyoomi can fall in love.


End file.
